Under the Weather
by catharticone
Summary: The Doctor didn't play nursemaid, which was just as well, because Rose didn't want anyone fussing over her anyway...
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **__"Doctor Who" is the property of the BBC, and no infringement is intended._

_**Author's Note: **_This short tale was in part inspired by Sonic Jules, who suggested a "Side Effects" series to me. Would Rose really walk away unscathed from each perilous adventure? We think not!

* * *

Rose sipped her tea slowly. It felt very good to sit down, to hold the warm cup in her hands and take a few minutes to unwind. It seemed rare that she and the Doctor found the time to truly relax. Usually they dashed from one escapade to the next with barely a moment to catch their breaths. Of course he'd boasted that he had some sort of respiratory bypass system that let him get by with little or no air for extended periods of time, so he probably didn't need more than a second to recharge after a particularly harrowing flight. But she was human, and much as she wanted to keep up with the boundless energy of the Time Lord, on rare occasions she got tired.

This was one of those occasions. She'd slept for nine or ten hours after they'd returned from Krop Tor, but she still felt deeply fatigued. There was a dull ache at the base of her neck, too. She rubbed at it then took another sip of tea.

The Doctor was buzzing about the console, doing something involving recalibrating the temporal-spatial whatsits. Rose couldn't really remember what he'd told her. His constant motion was making her a bit dizzy, so she looked back down at her tea.

He paused to snatch up his own cup, draining the contents with a satisfied smack of his lips.

"Outstanding tea, Rose," he complimented. "Is there any more?"

"I can make another pot," she replied, looking up at his grinning, eager expression.

"Yep, that'd be great! Nothing like a good, strong cuppa to get the old synapses firing in tip-top form." He held out his cup.

Rose stood, surprised by the little niggle of pain accompanying this motion. Her lower back felt sore, and she tried to recall just which muscles she'd abused recently. She extended her hand for his cup.

He glanced down for a moment, then he caught her wrist gently. "Your hands are shaking," he told her. He sounded mildly surprised.

She looked at her hand to see that it trembled slightly. "Must've made the tea stronger than I planned—too much caffeine, yeah?"

"I've seen you down a tall triple mocha with three shots of espresso, and it didn't make you shake."

She shrugged. "I'm still a little tired, I s'pose."

His brow furrowed. "I thought you slept for ten hours. Didn't you sleep well?"

"Yeah, fine."

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, and he frowned. "You feel warm, Rose." He took a step toward her so that he could rest his palm against her forehead. "You're running a low-grade fever…about 38.4. You feel sick?"

She shook her head. "No, just a bit tired. 'S been a long couple a' days."

He dropped his hand. "That it has."

"Yeah. So I'll jus' go an' make that tea for you."

"No, Rose, you don't need to do that. Why don't you go and lie down for a while."

The idea was really quite appealing, but she hated to appear weak. She hesitated.

"Or would you like me to take you to your mum's?" he asked.

"My mum's?" she repeated, surprised by the suggestion. "You never wanna go there!"

"Well, if that's where _you_ want to go, then that's where I'll take you."

"Why would I wanna go there?"

"If you're feeling ill, I thought you'd want your mum to take care of you. Isn't that what humans like?"

Rose shook her head. "Not this one. Mum's the worst fusser ever. 'S a wonder I ever got well when she was takin' care of me."

He frowned in concern. "Were you sick a lot?"

"No, no more than most other kids—y'know, just colds and flu a couple a' times. Usual stuff. But the way she fussed over me." Rose rolled her eyes. "I hate that. A few times I didn't even tell her I was sick 'cause I didn't want her hoverin' over me, makin' a big deal over it."

"Your mum bothering someone within an inch of her life. Imagine that!"

"Oi! She means well, but I just don't like havin' anyone bother over me."

He regarded her with a critical eye for just a second then gestured toward the corridor. "You go and have a kip. I'll pop in and see if you need anything in a little while."

She gave her head another shake. "I'm all right. I don't want you fussin' over me, either."

"Oh, believe me Rose, I don't fuss. I don't play nursemaid, either—"

"Only to her," she interjected with a wry little grin as she patted the console.

"I'd hardly call that nursemaiding! She requires careful, precise maintenance and engineering—"

"Right. An' you like givin' it to her."

"She's a complex, delicate entity."

"Yeah," Rose agreed, "she is." She yawned.

He pointed at the corridor again. "Kip."

"On it." She shuffled down the ramp and made her way to her room.

* * *

The Doctor watched her go. Did her steps seem a bit sluggish? She'd been undeniably warm, even for a human. Still, she might merely be run down. Sometimes he neglected to remember that the human constitution wasn't quite as hearty as his.

Oh, Rose was a trooper; she rarely complained, she usually mustered considerable energy, and she demonstrated a fortitude that he really did admire. He wondered for just a moment if she'd even admit it to him if she were feeling sick.

But she wasn't stupid. If something were really wrong, she'd tell him. Besides, the chances of her contracting an illness were slim at best. The environment within the confines of the ship was pure and immediately cleansed itself of any foreign matter. Whenever anyone stepped inside, the TARDIS gave him or her the equivalent of a thorough decontamination shower, similar to the cleansing spray on New Earth but without the liquid or noise.

He'd had companions enter the ship with injuries, but never had anyone become ill from a viral infection. Indeed, even when there had been a broken bone or a serious wound, the environmental cleansing had begun clearing up bacterial infection before he'd even gotten the patient to the med bay.

He thought back on those courageous young people who'd accompanied him on his many adventures. A young Scotsman, two teachers, his granddaughter, an intrepid reporter, and the woman others had called a savage; the brilliant yet gentle Trakenite, the headstrong Alzarian genius, a brash yet fearless Australian who butted heads with a Trion refugee, a gutsy American girl, a teenager with a fondness for Nitro 9, a Beatnik, a professor who wasn't really a professor…

He wondered for a moment if he'd cared for them properly. His hearts still ached when he thought of Adric, but the boy had bravely chosen his own destiny. Still, it might have been prevented, and he might have been more sympathetic to the girls in the aftermath. And then on the heels of that there'd been Tegan's experience with the Mara. Surely that had left emotional scars, but he hadn't really thought to check, just assumed she was all right like he always did.

Because what he'd told Rose was true: The Doctor didn't play nursemaid. He didn't fuss over his friends. If they were injured physically, he'd treat them. But solicitous care was not in his nature. Fix the problem and move on; that had always been his unspoken credo.

Sometimes there were little things that were best ignored anyway. Tegan and Ace, for example, had occasionally been affected by those bothersome female cycles that left them irritable and rather uncomfortable for several days. Perhaps that was Rose's issue, too. He tried to make a point of ignoring such things whenever possible, but now he wished momentarily that he could remember just when he'd last noticed that faint hint of iron infusing her natural human scent.

Still, that wouldn't cause a low-grade fever. He recalled that there was a point in the human female's cycle when her body temperature would increase incrementally, but not by a full degree. Besides, that wouldn't leave Rose tired.

Simple exhaustion, though, could explain her vague symptoms. Rest was the best thing for her. He felt certain of it. Decision made, the Doctor returned his full attention to the console and the bare wires beckoning for his tender ministrations.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

She really was tired, but Rose found that she couldn't fall asleep completely. She'd doze, but then she'd realize that she was still awake, that she hadn't fully entered that restful state, and that knowledge left her even more drained.

She sighed, rolling over onto her side in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. She still felt achy, and the tightness in her neck was creeping up into her skull. It was really only a vague irritation, though, and maybe she was just imagining it. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that her mind was playing tricks on her. Her skin felt itchy, too, particularly her lower back. As soon as that sensation made its way into her awareness, her shoulders and legs began to itch, too.

Instead of giving in and scratching, Rose lay still. After a few minutes the sensations faded, leaving her with just the headache and fatigue. She closed her eyes again. Maybe this time sleep really would claim her.

* * *

He'd put all the wires back where they belonged and spent some time running a soft cloth over the console, removing all traces of oil. The ship was in perfect working order; there was nothing else to be done.

The Doctor glanced at one of the clocks. It was 2:45 in the afternoon, London time. When had Rose gone to her room? Was she still sleeping? Surely it had been at least two hours. She was probably feeling refreshed by now, all hints of her earlier malaise gone. Now all she'd be concerned about was hunger, because he realized that they had skipped lunch entirely.

He walked to the kitchen and prepared a pot of herbal tea. While it steeped, he cut up some cheese along with an apple and a melon. He arranged them rather neatly on a plate then added half a dozen melba toasts. That should suffice for a snack; later they could pop into a bistro for some bouillabaisse or stop at a boardwalk for fish and chips. He'd let her pick.

The Time Lord put the teapot, two cups, and the plate of food on a tray and returned to the corridor. He was grinning as he approached Rose's room. It wasn't often that he did something like this for her; usually she was the one to provide a drink or a bite for him. So this would be a nice little surprise for her.

He balanced the tray in one hand then tapped at her door. "Rose? You awake? I've brought tea."

"Mmn," was the mumbled response. "Tea?"

"Yep. And snacks, too."

"Wow, I must be dreamin'," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

He took that as an invitation and entered her room. She was sitting up in bed, her hair mussed and her tee shirt rumpled. He set the tray on her dresser.

"Feeling better?" he asked, pouring the tea.

"Yeah, think so."

"Have you been sleeping this entire time?" His tone wasn't really accusatory; at least he didn't intend for it to be.

"On an' off. Mostly off."

He turned to her, holding a cup in his hand. It took him a moment to notice the light flush coloring her cheeks. She reached for the tea, but he placed it on her night table before she could take it. He pressed his palm over her brow.

"You've still got a fever," he told her, a hint of concern returning to chafe at him.

"'S probably just from bein' too warm under this big, heavy duvet," she replied.

"That wouldn't increase your body temperature by more than half a degree, and yours is up by one point six."

She pulled back a little, clearly signaling him to remove his hand. He complied, but his eyes moved down to watch the rise and fall of her chest. Respiration appeared normal. He reached for her wrist to feel her pulse.

"What're you doin'?" she asked, obviously taken aback by the small action.

"Checking your pulse. What's it look like?"

"You don't need to do that," she protested, drawing her arm away from his gentle grasp. "I'm fine. Really."

"Well," he conceded, "your pulse and respiration seem normal, but the fever indicates that something's going on. Anything hurt?" His eyes moved over her slowly.

"Doctor," she said, crossing her arms over her chest, "you're fussin'."

"I am not," he protested.

"Yeah, you are." She offered him a small smile and reached for his hand. "It's sweet, but it's the last thing I need."

"But Rose, if you're ill—"

"'M not. Just a little under the weather's all. Cuppa tea'll make everything all right." She reached for the mug.

He watched her hand. It looked steadier than it had in the Console Room, and he supposed that was a good sign. She took a sip and nodded.

"'S good."

He brought the plate to her, and she nibbled at a piece of toast and cheese and ate a slice of apple. She didn't appear to have much of an appetite, however, and that concerned him just a little.

"Have some more," he encouraged, offering her a lovely layered toast replete with cheese and fruit.

She shook her head. "No thanks."

"Rose, you have to eat—"

She arched an eyebrow at him warningly. "Fussin'."

"Am not—"

"Mum's always tryin' to get me to eat when I'm sick. You're actin' just like her."

Now that truly was a cause for concern. "I am not!" he countered.

"Yeah, you are. But you can redeem yourself if you leave right now."

He'd seated himself beside her on the bed, but now he stood. "You sure there's nothing else I can get you? And I'm not fussing! I just want to know if there's anything you need. How about a glass of water? Staying hydrated's important when you're running a fever—"

There was that eyebrow vaguely threatening him again. He took the hint and backed toward the door.

"I'll be in the Console Room," he told her, gathering up the dishes.

"I'm sure I'll be up soon," she replied.

He nodded and stepped out into the corridor.

"Doctor!" Rose called.

He poked his head back through the doorway.

"Thanks for the tea."

"Any time, Rose."

He left her to rest, trying not to dwell upon reasons that her body would create a fever. Such thoughts were entirely too close to fussing—weren't they?

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

He'd expected her to join him at some point, but the hours dragged by, and the Doctor sat alone in the Console Room. He missed Rose's company. He liked having someone to talk to, someone to listen to his thoughts and laugh at his jokes. So when he headed back to Rose's room, it was only to seek her company, not to see how she was doing, because surely she was fine.

He knocked on the door lightly on the very off chance that she was still sleeping…

"Yeah, come in," she said. He thought her voice sounded a bit husky.

She was curled on her side, the duvet half tangled in her legs. Her flushed skin was finely layered with perspiration.

"Rose? You all right?" He couldn't help asking; she looked anything but fine.

"I—" She paused, her eyes moving to his face. She swallowed. "'M not feelin' very good," she said finally, and it sounded like a confession.

He was at her side immediately. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Didn't wanna bother you. Know how you hate that sort of thing."

He placed his hand against her forehead. Her fever was up about half a degree, probably just enough to leave her identifiably uncomfortable. It was certainly sufficient to tell him that this was more than fatigue.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his concern quite sincere.

She met his gaze, and he could see her hesitation.

"It's all right, Rose," he said, stroking her cheek softly.

"You—" She swallowed again, and he thought that her throat must feel dry or possibly sore. "This isn't what you do. Don't wanna make you… fuss."

"You're not."

"Maybe you should take me home." She looked away.

"Is that what you want?"

"I—" She seemed at a loss for words.

"Because if it is, I'll do it, but first let's figure out what's wrong. Chances are I can sort it in no time."

"Don't wanna trouble you," she said, expressing the sentiment again.

"I don't mind." And he didn't. He simply wanted to see her well again, and whatever steps that required, he was happy to comply.

"Rather be here," she said, her voice only a whisper.

He nodded. "I'd rather you were here, too."

She looked up at him again. "'M sorry."

"No need to be." With a soft brush of his hand over her hair, he asked, "Does anything hurt?"

"Got a headache," she replied.

He waited, but she seemed reticent to add more. "What else, Rose?"

"Neck sort of aches, too, an' my back."

He slid his hands beneath her head to run his fingers over the base of her skull then slowly down her neck. Her muscles felt a bit tight, but there was no rigidity. The retroauricular, retropharyngeal, and submandibular lymph nodes were not enlarged, either. But as his hand passed near the internal jugular vein, Rose winced.

"Is this sore?" he asked, touching the area with his fingertips.

"Little, yeah."

He didn't feel anything abnormal. Still, he brushed aside her hair so that he could see her skin. "What's this?" he inquired, his eyes finding a small, red mark.

He put on his glasses and peered at the area. It looked like an injection site.

Rose lifted her hand to touch the mark. "They knocked me out," she replied.

"You mean back at the base?"

She nodded. "Think it was Danny, or maybe Zack."

She grimaced at the memory of Toby, knowing that she'd caused his death. Her hand shook a little, and she lowered it to rub idly at her back.

"You know you did the right thing," the Doctor told her.

Her voice was small as she replied. "Yeah."

He noticed that her hand was still moving over her back. She'd said it was sore. He nudged her hip gently, saying, "Let me have a look."

She rolled half-way over without complaint. He wondered if she was a little lethargic from the fever. He slid up her shirt.

"Oh!" he exclaimed with some surprise. He ran his fingers around the rash covering her lower back, bending down to examine the irritation more closely. Tiny blisters peppered her skin; he thought they looked painful.

"What is it?" she asked, her attention caught by his exclamation.

"You've come out in a rash," he said.

"Itches," she informed him.

"Yep, seems like it would. Does it hurt?"

She nodded. "A little."

"Well, I'm sure I can find something for it." He straightened, eyes moving back to the mark on her neck. Suddenly he shook his head, one hand moving up to scrunch at his hair. "I've been an idiot!"

She looked at him. "What?"

"Me. Idiot. Thick, idiotic idiot."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Then she appeared to grasp his train of thought. "'M sorry. Told you you didn't need to fuss over me. I'll be all right—"

"No, Rose, that's not what I'm taking about. I should've figured this out the minute I realized you had a fever and weren't feeling well."

"Just a little tired's all," she said.

"Nope, you aren't. Well, you feel tired because of the fever, but that's due to the reaction."

"Reaction?" she repeated.

He rested his fingers above the mark on her neck. "To the sedative they gave you. You're obviously sensitive to it."

"Mum came out in hives once when she tried some new cold medication. Is it sort of like that?"

"Yes, I think so. Human biochemistry remains basically the same over the millennia, but very subtle evolutionary modifications can mean just enough difference that a particular substance won't metabolize properly, not the way it was intended when it was developed. The body tries to fight against it, just as if it were a disease pathogen. Whatever they gave you was developed for humans in their time, not for those in the twenty-first century." He examined the rash again. "Reminds me a bit of the reaction some patients used to get to penicillin, though this isn't as severe."

"Think it'll get worse?" she asked, just a hint of worry in her voice.

"No, Rose. I won't let it." He stood. "I'm going to get some lotion for the rash, and I'll see if I can find something to counteract the effects of the drug, too. Be right back."

Rose remained on her side. Rolling over felt like too much of an effort, and she thought that the rash was less itchy in this position. She sighed, annoyed with her body's reaction to the drug. She'd never had anything like that happen to her before, and now it had to go and occur when she was with the Doctor. She knew how much he hated playing nursemaid… She resolved to put on a brave front, to shoo him away as soon as he returned and let him tinker in peace. Then he wouldn't have to fuss over her, and that was good for both of them.

He was gone longer than she'd anticipated. When he finally returned, his expression was rather sober.

"Found some cream," he informed her, brandishing a small tube. He sat down beside her and pushed her shirt up further to expose her entire back.

"You can jus' leave it. I'll take care of it."

"What? Nonsense, Rose." He flipped up the cap and squeezed a line of the opalescent gel onto his fingertips.

"You don't need t' do that—" she began to protest.

"Of course I do." He paused for a second to look at her face, misreading her expression. "It shouldn't hurt, Rose. This has a topical anesthetic in it, too."

"'M not worried about that."

He began smoothing the gel over her back. Immediately the itch and sting receded.

"You shouldn't be worrying about anything," he said.

"Jus' don't wanna put you to any trouble."

His fingers moved gently over her skin in small circles. "It's no trouble, Rose."

Truth be told, the motion of his hand felt quite wonderful. Nearly all of the discomfort was gone, and now he was rubbing a bit more thoroughly at the deeper soreness in her muscles. Her mum had never managed anything that felt this nice.

After a few minutes, his hand stilled. "Better?" he asked softly.

She realized she'd closed her eyes and was almost dozing. "Mmn. Yeah. Thanks."

Cool air brushed over her legs. Rose looked down to see that the Doctor had pulled away the blankets and was studying her thighs and calves.

"What're you doin'?" she asked with some surprise.

"Checking to see if the rash has spread anywhere else. Legs look fine." Before she could fully process what he was doing, he'd slipped his hand up under her shirt to skate it lightly over her belly. "Nothing here."

"Oi! Watch where you're goin'!" she cried as his hand moved up a bit. She pushed it back down and tugged her tee shirt firmly over her stomach.

"Could've spread to your chest," he said matter-of-factly. "Skin there's similar in sensitivity to that on your back, and it often reacts the same."

She turned away from him and peeked down the neck of her shirt. "'S fine," she reported.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's good. Looks like the reaction's not too serious then."

"Uh uh. Jus' get me an aspirin an' I'll be fine."

"An aspirin?" he repeated, pronouncing the word as though it were among the vilest of invectives.

"Yeah, for the fever."

He frowned, his countenance showing disappointment. "About that…" he hedged.

"About what?"

"The fever. The aspirin." He lifted his hands in a gesture of apology.

"Yeah?" she queried, confused by his response to her simple request.

"Well, thing is…" He scratched at the back of his neck. "I did a bit of thinking while I was in the med bay. Checked a couple of databases, did a few quick statistical analyses, ran a dozen or so biomolecular models. That sort of thing." His hand moved to his neck again.

"And?"

"I think it'd be best to let this work its way out of your system on its own. I'm afraid that anything I might give you to counteract it could have even worse side effects, because if you're sensitive to somnylethylhexide-3, which I'm pretty certain is what they gave you, then of course you're going to be sensitive to the entire lethyhlhexide and paracortimelexidine spectrum, too."

Rose rubbed at her temple; her headache was growing worse by the second. "English, Doctor," she urged.

"What? Oh, right. Sorry. Basically the drug and those that would counteract its effects all share a similar molecule, and I think that's what caused your reaction. So it'd be best if we just wait it out. The rash shouldn't bother you any more, and I don't think your fever is going to increase."

Her head really was beginning to throb. "Can't I have an aspirin, though?"

"I'm afraid not. It could exacerbate the reaction. Really, it's best to just wait it out. I don't think it'll take more than twelve hours, sixteen at the outset—eighteen maximum."

She rolled her eyes. "Do I hear twenty-four?"

He appeared slightly aggrieved. "No, Rose, it won't be that long. Really."

"All right." She rolled onto her back and tugged the covers up. She'd felt hot before, but now she was becoming chilled.

"Feel like sleeping? Because really, that'd be the best thing for you."

"Yeah." She closed her eyes, but the pounding in her head didn't diminish with the small action.

"Can I get you anything—aside from aspirin, I mean?"

She realized that the Doctor was hovering at the bedside.

"No, I'll be fine. 'M just gonna try to get some sleep."

"Maybe you should have some water or juice first—"

She opened her eyes. "Fussin'," she remonstrated mildly.

"But Rose, you need—"

"What, Mum?"

His eyes widened for an instant. "Right. Then I'll just leave you to it."

She nodded. "Thanks."

She shut her eyes again and finally exhaled a relieved sigh when she heard the Time Lord leaving her room.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

He was nothing like Rose's mother. He was certain of it. He wasn't fussing or hovering; he was simply attempting to treat Rose's symptoms and alleviate her discomfort. And he most certainly was _not_ playing nursemaid.

The Doctor returned to the Console Room to sit idly in the jump seat. His fingers drummed against his knees then against the tatty leather. He leaned back, sliding his hands behind his head, but he found it difficult to relax.

What if Rose needed something? She'd said she had a headache. While he couldn't offer her any analgesics, he might be able to do something else to assuage her pain. The fever, too, would undoubtedly leave her alternating between too hot and too cold, worsening the aches, making her uncomfortable.

She would require fluids, as well. He hadn't been joking when he'd told her to drink water to avoid dehydration. While the risk of serious issues was minimal, even mild dehydration would worsen her symptoms.

He would not be fussing if he took her some juice and made sure that she drank it. Such an action would be for her benefit. If she didn't know what was good for her, well then, he'd just have to take matters into his own hands.

He was the Doctor, after all. He made things better. Rose's case was no exception.

He stood and strode purposely into the corridor.

* * *

She'd been a bloody fool to send him away.

Rose lay miserably beneath the covers, hot and cold by turns, and it was simply impossible to get comfortable. Oh, she realized that there was nothing the Doctor could offer her in the way of medication, but she thought that his presence would be soothing. At the very least, his wittering would provide a welcome distraction to her singular focus on her body's many ways of making her suffer.

She pushed back the duvet as she grew warm again. Her arms ached with the effort, and the throbbing in her head worsened. The lights seemed terribly bright, too. Maybe they were aggravating her headache. She should turn them down…

Rose sat up slowly, groaning in frustration at the dull pain this action brought to her limbs. She set her feet upon the floor then pushed herself up. The room seemed to sway a bit, and she had to grasp the footboard and then the dresser to get herself to the wall where the light switch was mounted.

She pressed a shaking hand over it, moving it to lower the intensity of the brightness. The room was shrouded in dimness now, and she was relieved to find an incremental improvement in her headache.

She stood leaning against the wall for several minutes. The coolness of the structure felt nice against her hot skin. She slid down to sit with her back to the wall and her legs curled beneath her. Her little journey had exhausted her, and her eyelids felt very heavy.

Rose turned her cheek to the wall and closed her eyes.

* * *

The Doctor held a large bottle of water in one hand and an empty glass in the other. He'd decided that juice was less hydrating than a potassium-rich solution he could add to the water. He'd infused the liquid with some citrus flavoring, too, so that it would be more palatable to Rose.

He paused outside her door for just a moment. If she offered any resistance, any comments about resemblances to her mum, he'd tell her that she needed medical attention, plain and simple. And he, the Doctor, was the ideal person to provide it. There'd be no fussing, no pampering, of course—just his firm insistence on treating her to prevent complications.

He nodded in satisfaction then nudged at the partially open door with his elbow.

"Rose? It's me. I've brought you something to drink, because you need fluids." There. He'd said it matter-of-factly, professionally; she wouldn't argue with that.

He waited a few seconds and realized that she wasn't even acknowledging him. Surely she wasn't perturbed that he'd returned to provide her with necessary and well-warranted attention.

"Rose," he said again, beginning to grow miffed at her silent treatment.

She was behaving childishly. Well, two could play at that game. He'd treat her like a child, too. He'd tucked an aural thermometer into his pocket, but for just a moment he considered returning to the med bay and searching through his drawers until he found a thermometer appropriate for a small child. That would show her…

But then he noticed that her room was quite dim. He was certain he'd left the lights on.

Without further hesitation, he pushed open the door and blinked in the low light.

Rose's bed was empty, and the bathroom was dark. His eyes moved quickly through the dimness until he saw her slumped against the wall, only a few feet from where he stood.

"Rose!" he said with some alarm, hastily setting the bottle and glass on the dresser before falling to his knees beside her.

"Mmn," she responded. "Doctor."

He pressed his hand over her forehead, afraid that her fever had spiked unexpectedly. However, it seemed no higher than it had earlier. She opened her eyes slowly to lift them lethargically to his face.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked.

"Lights were too bright," she explained hoarsely, "an' the wall felt so nice an' cool. 'S sort of cold now, though." She frowned, and a small shiver ran through her.

"Come on," he said, taking her arms and lifting her gingerly. "Back to bed, Rose."

He helped her across the room and eased her down onto the mattress. Immediately she sank down onto her side, reaching for the duvet. He pulled it up over her shoulders.

"Cold," she murmured. She was shivering in earnest now despite the warmth of the quilt. Her hand reached out shakily for another blanket.

"Here," he said gently, spreading a second blanket over her.

"Thanks." Still, chills continued to wrack her.

The Doctor reached for her hand, enfolding it between his palms as he instructed his body temperature to rise.

After a minute or so, Rose said, "Feels good." However, her shivering had not ceased.

He toed off his shoes then released her hand so that he could pull off his jacket. Quickly he lifted the duvet and slipped into bed beside her, snuggling against her back.

"Doctor?" she questioned, clearly surprised by his actions.

"Sshh. Just relax, Rose." He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her body close to his.

He could feel the unnatural heat of her skin as her back pressed against his chest and stomach. He rubbed his hand along her arm, and she cuddled into him even closer.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah."

He continued to caress her arm as his other hand rested over her stomach. She really was warm; he'd need to check her temperature soon. He estimated it to be about 38.4, but it would be wise to confirm this.

However, for the moment his presence seemed to quell her chills. He felt her body relaxing as the light shaking slowed then stopped. Gradually her respiration rate decreased, too, and he thought she was falling asleep.

He'd permit her to rest for a short while, but he did need to see that she had some fluids. It would be best to rouse her before she slipped into deep slumber. He'd give her a few minutes, though; she deserved that.

As he lay beside her, his arms encircling her and his hands moving in gentle motions over her hot skin, the Doctor realized that he felt content. Oh, he was a bit worried about her, of course, but her presence, her body beside his, was comforting. For so long, he'd felt utterly isolated, so bereft and unwilling to consider any sort of emotional attachment. However, now affection surged through him, and he understood that he was no longer alone.

His hand moved up to stroke Rose's cheek and temple. She'd complained of a headache; he was certain it had not gone away. He traced gentle circles with his fingertips, exerting the lightest pressure, just enough to trigger the desired effects.

"Mmm." She stirred a little. "Nice."

"I'm glad," he said softly.

He continued his ministrations for several minutes then, rather reluctantly, eased himself away from Rose and out of the cocoon of blankets.

"Where're you goin'?" she asked sleepily.

"Not far."

She opened her eyes. "Doctor?"

"Yes, Rose?"

"Can you…" She seemed hesitant to complete the questions.

"Can I what?" he prodded mildly.

"Can you… I mean, if you don't mind too much, would you stay? You don't need t'do anything; I don't need anything." Her voice was apologetic. "Jus' thought, maybe you could sit an' read or somethin'."

He smiled down at her. "Of course, Rose. I'd be glad to."

She returned the smile.

"So," he said, "since I'm here, I'm going to check your temperature." He dug the thermometer out of his jacket and held it to her ear. She didn't complain. He studied the read-out briefly; he'd been quite close in his estimate.

"'S it okay?" she asked, watching his expression.

"Fine. Not too high, but enough to make you a bit uncomfortable." He poured some water from the bottle and brought the glass to her. "This'll help."

She sat up, aided by his hand at her back, and drank without questioning him. He nodded approvingly as she finished the contents. Before she lay down again, he lifted her shirt to check the rash upon her back. The gel had worked well; most of the blisters had receded, leaving just a light, dry irritation and mild redness.

"How's it feel?" he asked, his fingers skirting the area.

"Just itches a little."

He applied more gel with solicitous strokes. When she sighed contentedly, he smiled, pleased that he was able to make her feel better.

He helped her settle back against her pillow and tucked the covers around her.

"Now," he said, "you should try to sleep."

"Yeah. Think I can now."

Her eyelids were already lowering. He thought slumber had claimed her quickly, but her hand slid from beneath the blankets, fingers questing for his. He took her hand, and within a few seconds she fell asleep.

* * *

_To be concluded…_


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor sat in a chair near the bed, eyes moving between his book and Rose's tranquil face. She'd been asleep for nearly six hours, and he had not left her side for more than the two minutes needed to pull a book from the library.

Unconsciously he'd kept track of her respiration and pulse rate; in the deep quiet of the room, he could sense the beat of her heart and hear her gentle inhalations and exhalations. She was in no danger.

Finally her breathing quickened marginally, and she began to stir. Her eyes opened slowly.

"Good morning," he greeted amiably. "Or maybe afternoon? Could be evening, I suppose, or even midnight somewhere—"

"Mornin', Doctor," she replied with a little grin of fond exasperation. "Clock says 9:30 AM." She glanced at the timepiece on her nightstand.

"Well, then, morning it is. How are you feeling?"

She sat up. "Better. A lot better."

He leaned forward to press his hand over her brow. "Fever's down, almost back to normal."

"I'm not hot or cold, either," she informed him.

"How's the headache?"

"Gone."

He smiled. "Excellent! Let's get some more liquids into you; that'll keep you feeling good."

He poured a full glass of water, which she drank easily.

"How's your back feel?" he asked.

She leaned forward, anticipating his next action, as she replied, "Hardly itches at all."

He peered under her shirt to find her skin nearly healed. "Looks good."

She was rubbing a hand over her stomach, however, and he grew worried again.

"What's the matter? Do you feel nauseous?" he queried.

Rose shook her head. "No, just hungry."

"Well," he said with a grin, "that's a good sign! What would you like? You know I make a mean toast with marmalade, and I'm not bad with tomato soup, grilled cheese, and even omelets. What do you fancy?"

"Can I say all of the above?" Her stomach growled in confirmation.

"Hmm, suppose I can manage that. But it's going to take a while." He stood.

"I'll come with you."

He studied her face for a moment. "Sure you feel up to that? I'd be glad to bring it to you in here."

"I've been cooped up for ages! Besides, I really feel fine now."

He watched as she got out of bed. Her legs seemed steady, and her color remained healthy. He handed her a robe then looped his arm through hers as they entered the corridor.

She glanced at his arm. "I'm all right on my own."

"Oh, I know that! This is just a friendly little loopy thing."

"Could say the same about you," she teased.

"Oi! After I sat by your sickbed—"

Abruptly, Rose stopped walking. "You stayed there the whole time?"

Suddenly he recalled her aversion to fussing. "Not the entire time," he replied slowly.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "How long?"

"Most of the time," he confessed. "But I'd got immersed in a good book—pretty much forgot where I was."

She turned to face him, slipping both her hands into his. "Thank you."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, 'course. You took really good care of me, an' you made me feel better."

"And I wasn't fussing," he said firmly. "You needed medical attention—"

"An' you're the Doctor," she interjected with a small smile, "an' I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have takin' care of me."

"I can't think of anyone else I'd rather take care of," he replied, squeezing her hands gently.

They continued down the corridor. Rose grinned, then little giggles began bubbling up, finally building into full-fledged laughter. She had to stop walking as her chortling continued unabated.

The Doctor watched her with amusement, but he had the oddest feeling that the laughter was at his expense. Finally he dared to ask, "What's so funny?"

"Jus' thinkin'," she said, interrupted by another laughing fit, "that I'm glad you're nothin' like my mum."

"Like your—Oh, right. Fussing over you."

She shook her head, still in the throes of hilarity. "No, not that—well, yeah, I'm glad about that, too. But I just got this image of you bringin' me tea, but for some reason you were wearin' a velour track suit, an'you had bleached blonde hair!" She had to stop as the laughter nearly choked her.

At first the Time Lord was thoroughly appalled at the mere suggestion, but after a few moments the same image insisted on worming its way into his mind. "Oh!" he said, nose wrinkling in distaste, "now _that_ is truly enough to make a person ill!"

Wiping her eyes, Rose agreed. "Yeah. Sorry, maybe I'm still a little delirious."

He leaned in closely, his eyes locking onto hers. "Hmm. Maybe you are." He looped his arm through hers again. "Good thing you've got your very own Doctor."

She snuggled against him. "Yep, it is."

They continued their stroll toward the kitchen arm-in-arm, giggling all the way.

* * *


End file.
